


Dark Hearts, Darker Souls

by xseaxwitchx



Series: Jaytim Week 2k18 [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, More tags to be added, dark!AU, i'll out warnings at the beginnings of chapters I feel require it, just the elements, not the show, supernatural!AU, this is going to get intense my dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xseaxwitchx/pseuds/xseaxwitchx
Summary: The Drake family holds an iron fist over the Gotham coven. Jason is a trained Hunter and holds conflicted emotions about his previously semi-permanent home city. Unfortunately, several connected cases bring the Hunter back to his dreaded home and he gets himself into trouble with the current head, Tim Drake. In something he never thought possible, Jason gets plunged into affairs he wished he didn't and finding out more than he bargained for.





	Dark Hearts, Darker Souls

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is semi-unedited, so I apologize for any mistakes that may be present for they will be fixed in the near future. Maybe.
> 
> Anyway, the rape/non-con will come in later chapters, so the first few should be fine. I do feel I should warn you since this is a dark!au, I took this meaning all the way, so there will be no sugar-coating anything, so if you feel this fic eventually becomes too much and you can't handle it, I won't take an ounce of offense because different people have different thresholds.

_Laugh tracks to an old sitcom fill the dingy apartment. Lights from the TV play across the face of a middle-aged woman who stares blankly at the screen, registering nothing. On her arm, a little bruise forms where the needle pushed into the skin. Heroine, cloth, and needles lay scattered on the table next to the woman who sits in a lounge chair that no longer held the softness it once did._

_In the dark sits a little boy of 10 under the dining table. He holds a baby blanket, the only thing he had of his former life, from a mother that never wanted him. Beside him lays a puppy, too quiet, daring to not even whimper. The puppy’s head lays in the boy’s lap gently, occasionally nuzzling at the boy’s arm. Once in a while, the boy pets the puppy’s head, the only family that seemed to bring him any shred of happiness anymore. The boy’s attention splits between the TV and his step-mother._

_“Baby, c’mere,” the woman says languidly. Her hand lifts from the armrest slightly, giving a small, almost microscopic, wave to motion the boy over. Gently, the boy lifts the pet’s head of his lap, who whimpers, but obliges. The boy crawls slowly out from under the table, softly padding his way over to the woman in the chair, still clutching his blanket, hands gripping the fabric tighter with every step. He doesn’t like when she acts this way--she proves unpredictable at best._

_He makes it to the side of the chair, cautiously placing his free hand on hers. She turns her hand over, loosley gripping the boy’s. Her head lolls to the side to set unfocused eyes on his. The eyes, glazed over as if seeing something that’s not there, rolls down to look at the blanket in the boy’s hand. She frowns, letting the boy’s hand go and reaching up to his face, stroking his cheek lightly._

_“Baby boy,” she breathes out, “why do you still have that old thing?”_

_The boy fights back tears as his eyes try to bore into the woman’s. “I was cold, momma,” comes his simple reply. He doesn’t lie entirely; he does feel cold, but a cold that settles in the bones of the hopeless, not a cold that could go away with warmth from tattered fabric and someone’s love._

_The hand stroking his cheek moves to card through his hair. “Come sit on my lap, sweety, it’s warmer. I miss you, baby.”_

_The boy moves around the corner of the chair, the hand in his hair slipping out. He carefully places himself on the woman’s lap, tenderly leaning into her chest, still gripping the blanket as if his life depends on it. One of her arms pulls him to her, the other pushing his head against her chest, the breasts acting as pillows. She slowly begins stroking his hair, rocking the recliner enough for the boy to feel the motion. The grip on his blanket slackens, his breathing beginning to slow in deep, even breaths, his body suddenly feels heavy and he fully leans into the woman, eyelids fluttering closed as his consciousness begins to fade. He knows the beating him and his step-mom would receive once his father got home, but for now he can’t bring himself to care._

_“One day, you’ll do good for Gotham, honey. One day, you’ll make the city better. I might not be alive then, baby boy, but you’ll do it. I know you will. I’ll be smiling down from Heaven, then, if I’m not here. You’re the love of my life, baby, don’t forget that.” She ends her little speech with a kiss to the boy’s forehead, that being the last thing he remembers before exhaustion pulls him under._

Jason’s eyes opened suddenly, pupils dilating to adjust from sudden darkness to soft light, faint images from the dream dancing in his vision for a split second before disappearing to reveal a moderate motel wall, gray, with a loveseat pressed against it, assorted items from newspaper clippings to pens and pads of paper littering the area. Sunlight barely peeked through the curtains as clouds still covered most of the horizon.

He blinked a couple times, then craned his neck to squint at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 7:23am. He groaned, wishing his body knew how to sleep longer than it did. His tugging at the blanket to burrow his face into the fabric proved futile when he felt a slight protesting tug. In confusion, he managed to turn his body to the other side. There, he met a faceful of hair. After taking the strands out of his mouth, his eyes followed the curve of the blanket: near the end it curved up, outlining a shoulder, then sloped down into what could only be described as a woman’s curve, then followed the gentle outline of her hips, down her thighs. Not wanting to disturb her, he turned to lay on his back, one hand laying innocently on his stomach and the other coming from the blanket to find a home behind his head.

As he stared at the ceiling, eyes still a bit hazy with sleep, he remembered his dream. Well, remembered the memory. The corners of his lips tugged up into a sad smile; the memory was one of the few good ones he had from his prepubescent years, and it always managed to float to the front of his mind when working on difficult cases or he was generally stressed out. For a reason he could not, and probably will never, place, it filled him with a calm sadness, as if to say that there is calm in the storm, but he’ll never truly be happy.

A loud snore shook him out of his revere. He glanced sideways, watching as the girl adjusted her sleeping position, then proceeded to still, continuing to snore adequately. Opting to leave her alone, he threw the covers off of him and tucked them into her backside, not wanting her to get cold.

The cold air of the motel room crashed into his skin, forcing his body to decorate itself in goosebumps. Of course, the worst place he felt the air was his genitals because he just had to be naked.

Before he stood, his eyes roamed around his side of the bed, searching for his clothes. Not finding them, he huffed to himself, stalking towards his duffel bag on the loveseat. He pulled out a pair of tight-fitting jeans, a black shirt that showed off his arms but not his torso, black underwear, and a pair of black socks. Shivering still, he padded his way to the bathroom, clutching the clothes tightly to his chest.

When he crossed the bathroom threshold he softly closed the door, put the toilet seat cover down, and put his clothes on top. Above the toilet sat a metal rod mounted to the wall adorned with a couple of body towels and a couple of smaller ones. Jason bent down to turn the water on in the shower, adjusting it to his liking. He stood for a moment, waiting for the water to warm up. He took this chance to look at himself in the bathroom mirror.

The raven strands stood in all sorts of odd angles, the white part the only part staying down. Red lipstick stained his lips and smeared the perimeter of his mouth. He thought a part of his ear contained the red culprit as well. On his neck, he took note of approximately four hickies and two very clear red kiss stains. Red lipstick never failed to be a pain in the ass to scrub off, and even then, he sometimes didn’t get it all.

He took one of his feet and placed it under the running water, testing it before pulling the lever that made the water reroute to the showerhead. Deeming the temperature acceptable, he pulled the lever, letting the water run a second or two before pulling back the curtain and hopping in.

The water rushing down his back soothed his muscles. The tension in his shoulders dissipated and the anxieties of his mind temporarily left down the drain with the water. It felt relaxing.

Considering he’s been in this motel room for about the past week and a half, he already had his showering supplies stocked in the shower. He never found himself fond of what the motels provided, so he bought his own stuff because if he wanted to smell like green apples then, dammit, he would smell like green apples.

He reached out for the fruit-scented shampoo, dropping it and catching it with his other hand thanks to his fast reflexes. Jason popped open the cap, squirted some into his hand, closed the lid and put the bottle back, then slowly massaged the shampoo into his hair. The water from the showerhead ran the shampoo out of his hair as he grabbed his red shower loofah and slathered it with his matching-scented body wash, then washed his body down; he would deal with the red lipstick stains later.

After completely washing and rinsing himself, he turned the water off and pulled back the shower curtain, grabbing a body towel from the metal rod and drying himself down. He threw the towel into a corner of the bathroom, then quickly dressed.

By 8am, his teeth held less yellow plaque, his body and clothes fresh and clean, his hair barely managed. He started rummaging through the mini fridge for breakfast, read: any greasy leftovers from take-out, when he heard a feminine yawn close behind him. He turned around, a package of fries in one hand and a couple fries hanging from his mouth, and looked at the girl. _Shit, what was her name? Jesse? Jezebel? Jessica? Janie? Something with a “J,”_ he thought.

His black and grey flannel engulfed her, covering everything from her neck to her mid-thigh. Her light brown hair framed her face and held some kinks that definitely needed brushing. She smiled at him, bright, but tainted with the waning effects of sleep. “Morning, Jason. How’d ya sleep?” she asked as she made her way over to him. He quirked a smirk around the fries, giving a thumbs up with his free hand before biting the fries and taking them out of his mouth.

She smiled again, playfulness apparent. She stole a couple fries from the package then made herself comfortable on the table, taking the extra mile to ensure her hips moved more than needed. She ate the fries. Jason swallowed.

“I slept pretty well. And you?” he finally answered, stuffing his face with more fries.

“Same. I appreciated the extra warmth considering how cold it seems to be in here.” She emphasized her last point by rubbing her hands together and cocking an eyebrow his direction.

“Extra warmth?” Jason questioned, confused.

“You generate a lot of body heat; you’re like a living furnace! It was great!”

“Uh, thanks? I guess?”

She slapped him lightly on the shoulder, not moving from her spot on the table. “So, wanna generate some more?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, slowly starting to open the flannel.

Jason moved to put down the package of fries, going then to close her shirt. She let out an indignant huff.

“Dude. First, I already took a shower--”

“I can smell that.”

“--and have on fresh clothes. Second, I need this table for...work.”

“On the bed, then.”

“It’s already messy enough.”

“Okay, cover the bedsheets with the comforter. Then fuck me.”

“I hardly think that’ll make a difference; I came on the sheets and you squirted.”

“In the shower, then.”

“Ah, no, that damn thing is way too small.”

“We can make it work; trust me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to this morning.”

“Maybe ya coulda just said that in the first place!”

“...point taken.”

“Aha!” She jumped down from the table, stuck out her tongue, then walked to the bathroom. As Jason went to pick up his fries, he heard the lock of the door. He shoved some more in his mouth. _Quite the nutritious breakfast, Todd. What next? Mac ‘n’ cheese? Wait, that actually sounds good: cold mac ‘n’ cheese for breakfast. Dude, stop. Go find the girl’s ID so you know her name, you fucking idiot,_ he thought. Taking his fries, he walked over to the girl’s jeans to, thankfully, have found her ID in her back pocket. _Huh,_ his inner monologue continued, _I think of Jezebel and Janie, but not fucking Jennifer. Maybe today is the day I die._

He set the fries down on the old air conditioner and slid her ID back into her jeans, the tossing the pants onto the bed. He leaned down and grabbed both her low-cut shirt and thong then tossed them onto the bed to join the other clothes. He cringed thinking about the poor cleaning lady who’d have to clean the messy sheets and immediately felt an ounce of guilt for a moment.

He whipped around back to the air conditioner and took a couple of fries, stuffing them in his mouth and heading to the kitchen counter where the files for his recent case sat. The difference between this case and any of his previous ones rang clear as church bells from the solid stack that stared the hunter down. It’s imposing presence seemed to challenge Jason who took the liberty of attempting to set the pile on fire with nothing more than a searing glare; he failed.

Grumbling incoherent nonsense to no one in particular, he trudged back to the air conditioner and snatched the container of fries, finishing it off and throwing the container in the garbage. The sounds of running water from the showerhead greeted his ears as he turned on the faucet to rinse his hands of grease and salt.

Drying his hands on a hand towel, he turned around, leaning back against the sink and once again glaring daggers at his workload.

“ _Evil on your mind_

_Trouble at your feet_

_Livin’ by the gun_

_The devil’s got you beat…”_

The ringtone started from on the bedside table. Knowing whom the ringtone belonged to, Jason rushed over to the nightstand and quickly slid the answer option on the bright screen. Shoving it against his ear, the sounds of soft chatter greeted his ear before a deep voice interrupted.

“Hey, Jaybird, how’s it goin’?”

The man in question pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loud enough for the man on the other side to hear.

“It’s goin’. I don’t honestly know what you expect from me at this point,” Jason responded.

“Last time I spoke to you was a few days ago. I can’t check up on my bestie?”

“‘Bestie?’ I had to pretend to be your husband for a week; if anything, I’m the closest thing to a girlfriend you’ll get. What do you what?”

“Ooo, someone’s snippy. Anyway, I ran across an interesting article from the Gotham Gazette and I think you’d be interested as well.”

At this point, Jason made himself comfortable on the bed, leaning his back against the headrest.

“Why,” he started, “would you be running across a Gotham Gazette article when you’re currently in Wyoming? You better not be monitoring again.”

A chuckle made its way over the phone. “Jay, I’m not. First, it was on my twitter feed; second, maybe I like to keep up on the fiasco of crazies in that city. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s worse than Central City.”

“Yeah, but not as bad as Blüdhaven.”

“I will not touch that city with a ten-foot pole, couldn’t pay me enough. Anyway, just check it out, yeah?”

“Fine. You’re lucky I like you, Roy.”

“Is that confession, Jaybird?”

Jason could imagine the look of faux interest, a hand over the redhead’s heart, reacting overdramatically as he unknowingly stabbed an elbow into a pancake stack or something equally ridiculous.

“Talk to you later, Roy.”

“See ya, Jay.”

He hung up the phone then felt it buzz a few seconds later as a notification banner for an email popped up. He tapped on it, proceeding to click on the link and read.

As his eyes scanned the article before diving full-in, the sound of the shower turning off and the door opening caught his attention.

“You don’t happen to have a hairbrush, do you?” a feminine voice asked.

“Nope,” he said. “I don’t usually carry toiletries for my one-night stands. Anyway, I have work to get to and _you_ have a dorm to go to; I’m sure your friends are worried.”

“Not really; I could stay and help.”

“No, no you really can’t.”

“But--”

“I said no, Jennifer. Please collect your things and go.”

“Why are you being so rude all of a sudden?”

Jason would admit he got a little snappy, but the skimming of the article did not sit well with him and this woman didn’t get the hint. He sighed, tossing his phone onto the bed and stalked over to her.

He grabbed both her shoulders, staring down at her because of her height and prepared himself to give the usual speech.

“Look, you’re a nice girl, but you were nothing more than a one-night stand for me, and now I need you to leave because I have important business to attend to. We will never see each other again, okay?”

Jennifer looked crestfallen, but Jason had to tell her the honest truth. Sure, not the first time he delivered this speech to both other girls and boys, but each time did not devalue its honesty and meaning.

“Fine.” The room tensed at her short and clipped retort as she quietly dressed, grabbed her things, then headed out the door which she took to slamming. Jason flinched at the loud sound but otherwise made no movement.

He let out a relieved sigh when he saw her figure slowly shrinking through the window where the curtains flew in a light breeze, providing no privacy to the inside.

Jason mumbled under his breath as he picked up his phone and started to thoroughly read the article. He also followed the Gotham Gazette on Twitter where most of his current cases came from, so the article Roy sent him provided no new insight, but the link on the bottom to the next article sounded intriguing:

_Drake heir to host charity gala for first time_

Jason always felt suspicious about the Drake family; he never liked them and could never quite place why, but this event stood an erected red flag on his radar. With something like that, Jason could not refuse (maybe that’s why Roy sent him the previous article and not this directly--to throw off any hackers).

He quickly plugged his phone into the Beats pill sitting by the TV and selected a playlist full of rock music. As _Kickstart My Heart_ by Mötley Crüe started up, he moved about the room, packing his things and cleaning up as best he could while the playlist ran through his songs.

Thoughts ran through his head about visiting his old home.

Home. An interesting word to describe the hellhole of a city he spent the last part of his adolescence and most of his teen years in, but he would have it no other way; the city always had a way of protecting him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm looking forward to the intense parts, tbh. They should be interesting to write.
> 
> Anyway, leave me a comment, kudos, or (preferably) both; they always make my day!
> 
> I also have a tumblr by the same name; come say hi!


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